


We Put the Boo in Books!

by theinkwell33



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Bookbinding, Cider, Cryptids, EVP, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Manor, Lots of eyes, M/M, Pranks, QPRs galore, Scooby Doo Style Mysteries & Hijinks, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), True Forms, Wings, aziraphale's true hereditary enemy is the National Trust, minor blood, spooky level 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinkwell33/pseuds/theinkwell33
Summary: As a side effect of keeping an old promise, Aziraphale has unfortunately become somewhat of an urban legend. One that the gang at Mystery Inc. have been asked to investigate, with...mixed results.**A Halloween gift for PepperVL!**
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97
Collections: Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	We Put the Boo in Books!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PepperVL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for the lovely PepperVL for the Trickety-Boo Halloween Exchange! It's been a blast writing this for you, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Happy Halloween!

On Halloween night, as he did every year, Aziraphale made a special trip out to Norfolk to check on his books. 

Well, they weren’t  _ his _ books, he had to remind himself, but they may as well have been. He’d been on good terms with Gregory Barclay IV, the owner of the literary marvel, Mannah Hall, back in the early nineteenth century. Mannah Hall had one of the best collections of prized books, and Aziraphale, under the guise of a minister, would often visit to read them.

Unfortunately, a fire in 1809 put Gregory and the library under mortal peril, and while Aziraphale was able to spirit him (and some of the books) to the safety of the garden, Gregory still bolted back inside to rescue the remaining volumes. There was nothing Aziraphale could have done, save rescue the poor, unconscious man from the smoke-choked library, and Gregory eventually succumbed to his wounds anyway. 

Aziraphale had been ordered by Upstairs not to interfere in deaths anymore, after an accidental zombie incident in 1705, so all he could do was treat the wounds and be with Gregory until his end. The angel made a bedside promise to care for the books, so care for the books he had.

But this became complicated in later years because of the infernal National Trust.

Prevented from straying from a museum velvet rope tour due to the active preservation of the space, Aziraphale has been forced to do a bit of, well, sneaking.

So every Halloween, he broke in and did the kind of book maintenance that required repairing spines and re-setting bindings, free from notice by the particularly observant staff.

He’d only been sighted a few times, mainly by staff coming back for a forgotten set of keys, or punk kids chucking rocks at the windows, but that was the beauty of choosing this specific night. Anyone who saw him would chalk it up to a ghostly encounter, and most people who reported their experiences described him as the ghost of Gregory anyway.

The one thing they always did bother to point out in their descriptions of him, was the rather large set of wings extending from his back as he worked. This, in Aziraphale’s proud opinion, would discredit any legitimate research into the sightings at Mannah Hall.

Thankfully, nobody had ever managed to find any concrete evidence to prove Aziraphale was not a spectre, and nobody would ever guess what he  _ really _ was. So after hundreds of years, he’d been completely successful in his stealth, which was rather a point of pride for him.

He’d even been so bold as to invite Crowley along this time, now that the apocalypse was over and they were getting more accustomed to spending more time together.

“It won’t be your average Halloween event,” Aziraphale had warned, but Crowley only shrugged, which was a feat, considering he was draped nearly upside down on the bookshop sofa, one knee propped against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Cultivating a haunted myth and breaking rules? Sounds right up my alley.”

“Oh,  _ you _ . I’m honoring a dead man’s wish.”

“‘Still. I can scare people off if anyone comes to investigate. I’m good at that.”

“The point is to  _ not  _ get noticed, Crowley. We just need to give off a vaguely spooky, ghostly impression.”

“Oh, that I can do,” Crowley winked. “Big spooky fan, me.”

“Excellent. I’ll bring some snacks. No reason we can’t do this without a thermos of mulled cider waiting for us at the end.”

And so here they were in the Mannah Hall library, with lit candles and spread wings. Crowley lounged across the top of a bookshelf, keeping an eye out for intruders, while Aziraphale was at a table to his right, bent low under a deteriorating volume of an illuminated edition of  _ The Canterbury Tales _ . Everything was going perfectly. 

That is, until a carful of strangers showed up.

Below the library window, a mottled teal van pulled up onto the gravel drive. With a slam of car doors, four figures got out, followed by a dark, four legged shape that could have been a dog, but it was too dark to tell.

Crowley fluttered down from the bookshelf with a beat of his wings and slunk toward the window to peer out at the unwelcome guests.

“We’ve got company, angel,” he said. Aziraphale, who was fixated on the book before him, did not respond.

“Right,” said Crowley, grinning with anticipation. “I’ll handle this.”

* * *

“Are you sure we’re allowed here at night?” asked Daphne. She frowned as her shoes sank into the abrasive gravel. They’d better not be ruined, they were expensive.

“Yep!” grinned Fred, unloading a case of equipment from the back of the van. “I called and asked the people who work here, and they said they’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this mysterious ghost for some time. They seemed relieved we wanted to check it out, apparently being here after closing on Halloween freaks them out.”

“Fred, man, shouldn’t that, like, be our sign to  _ not _ check it out?” demanded Shaggy. Scooby audibly agreed, as if anyone could possibly expect him not to. 

Velma rolled her eyes. “You scaredy-cats have nothing to worry about. What have I always told you? The supernatural isn’t real, there’s always a reasonable explanation.”

“That’s just because you haven’t  _ met  _ the supernatural yet,” Shaggy crossed his arms, but didn’t complain any further as they filed into the manor.

Mannah Hall had, in Velma’s view, a very simple problem. There was a consistent sighting every Halloween, of the same winged, ghostly being puttering about in the library. He was clearly harmless, non-violent, and predictable. This wouldn’t take them longer than an hour, she was sure.

Their job was to get to the bottom of the manifestation, and expose the truth of whoever was breaking into a random English country house in an angel costume. Then, it was merely a matter of apprehending the culprit, and making sure Daphne’s schedule was free to accept a medal of thanks from the National Trust.

It was quite an honor to help out the National Trust, Daphne had assured her when they’d first been hired. She’d had a sort of respect for them ever since studying abroad in Exeter.

While Velma did not fully understand this, she accepted it. If Daphne cared,  _ she  _ cared too.

As they walked into the grand stone entryway, Fred flicked on the lights. They had about ten seconds to admire the well-preserved hallways and high ceilings before the door slammed shut behind them and all the light bulbs burnt out at once. A ghostly wail echoed from two floors up.

“Whoa,” said Fred, who seemed comically unfazed. “Everybody get out your flashlights. I bet we blew a fuse.”

“You guys heard that, r-right?” Shaggy asked, eyes still aimed upward as if he could spot a ghoul through two layers of ceiling.

“It’s an old house,” Daphne explained. “There’s bound to be lots of creaks and moans.”

Scooby whined. On reflex, Velma drew a box of Scooby Snacks out of her purse and tossed one snack each to Shaggy and Scooby. They didn’t look entirely convinced, but the treats did at least coax them to walk out of the doorway.

“Come on, you two,” Daphne said as they walked. She switched on her flashlight and glanced behind her at her two frightened friends. “We do this every time. You guys get scared, we find the monster, the monster turns out to be a guy in a mask. Nothing to be afraid of.”

A deep, disembodied laugh cut through her words, and the air around them suddenly turned ice cold.

“Ooookay,” said Fred, “that definitely wasn’t something I can chalk up to old architecture.”

Velma’s glasses fogged up, and she irritably pulled them off to rub them on her orange sweater. “Jinkies,” she muttered. “How are they making the cold spot? There’s no vent in this corridor.”

It turned out the chilly air was the least of their problems, because as they cautiously ventured up the stairs to the library on the third floor, Velma became aware that Shaggy and Scooby had stopped following them.

“Uhhhhh, guys?” Shaggy called out from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Do walls in old houses do that?”

“Do what?” Velma frowned, but Daphne put it together first and made a high pitched  _ eeeek _ noise.

“The walls are...bleeding?” asked Fred, as if someone would assure him that, no, that red substance oozing from the wallpaper definitely was paint. Nobody did.

Velma knew blood when she saw it, and took a step back. “Nobody I talked to mentioned bleeding walls.”

But her statement was drowned out by Shaggy and Scooby grabbing each other, screaming loudly, and bolting up the stairs, far past the rest of the gang and disappearing down a third floor hallway. Fred and Daphne had moved a little further away from the wall, but didn’t follow after their terrified friends. This was just...par for the course. This was how they worked. Shaggy and Scooby would probably find the ghost first, and the three of them could show up afterward to come to a logical conclusion.

Formulaic narratives were helpful that way.

So, trying to ignore the creeping sensation that something wasn’t right with this place, Velma took out a stoppered test tube to collect a sample of the blood. “They’ll be back,” she said. “They always are.”

* * *

Shaggy and Scooby reached the library first. It was an accident. They hadn’t meant to. 

But Scooby had found some sort of device in the hallway, and grabbed it in his teeth before Shaggy could tell him to leave it alone.

“Hey, what’s in your mouth? Drop it,  _ drop it _ …” he muttered, following Scooby around the labyrinth of old creepy rooms. Sheets were draped over much of the furniture up here. Scooby just gave a little giggle and kept running, until finally he reached a dead end with one door.

“Rrrrhong rhay,” muttered Scooby, but turned to find himself cornered by Shaggy, who immediately wrestled the device from Scooby’s jaw with considerable effort.

“Scoob, I know we’re both hungry, man, but you can’t eat this, it’s electronic.”

The device turned out to be an EVP machine labeled  _ Property of the Mannah House Private Investigator Team - 2016 _ . It was turned off. “Hm,” he scratched his head, “must’ve been, like, some other ghost hunters around or something. Maybe they left it behind.”

Scooby stuck out a curious paw and jammed the on button, and they were met with a horrible smattering of radio static and blurbs of voices and music. The cacophony was unsettling in a dark place, considering they were supposed to be hiding from a sinister ghostly presence.

“Like, what are we supposed to do, talk to it?” Shaggy turned the device over in his hands. “I’ve never used one.”

_ QUESADILLAS _ , said the device, in a perfect British accent.

“Uhhhh,” said Shaggy.

_ HOBOKEN. DOLPHIN. LAUNDROMAT.  _

There was some more static, and the two of them eyed it with frozen dread.

_ TAKES SOME TIME TO GET THE MARMALADE OF, I GUESS. HANG. I MEANT HANG. _

“Rhut?” grunted Scooby, nonplussed. More static. Then -

_ GET OUT OF MY TEACUP.  _

More static.

_ HOUSE. I MEANT HOUSE. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.  _

“Like, don’t need to tell me twice, man,” said Shaggy, and he and Scobby ran. They ended up on the other side of the hall, pushing their way through a heavy wooden door. But it wasn’t an exit.  _ That’s _ how they ended up in the library..

It was then that they discovered Shaggy was still holding the device, because it sputtered a few nonsensical staticky coughs and then said, _ HA HA HA HA HA _ .

Shaggy chucked it across the room until it smashed against a bookshelf. It choked out one last  _ GLUTEN  _ before it shut off and burst into a tiny flared explosion. The first, inane thought that came to Shaggy’s mind was  _ huh, thought it’d be louder _ before alarm bells finally rang in his head and he realized this was not a productive thought to have in the middle of a haunted house.

“Like, we’re in  _ way _ over our heads here, Scoob.”

Thankfully, this was the moment that Fred, Velma, and Daphne burst into the library from a door on the opposite side of the room. They looked like they’d been through...a lot. Fred was covered in spider webs, Velma had a huge splotch of something black and sticky on her sleeve, and Daphne’s hair, for some inexplicable reason, was green. Fred stared down at the still-smoking EVP box at his feet, and lifted his gaze until he spotted Shaggy and Scooby.

But before anyone could say a word, there was a voice from the center of the library, hidden from view by the bookshelves.

“Pardoner’s Tale,” it was muttering, and then there were a couple tutting noises. “Look at the state of you.”

Clearly, this meant that none of the gang could say a word if they didn’t want to be noticed. They began mouthing to each other, motioning for each to run across to the other side so they could escape. This went on with no results for quite some time, until Velma had the foresight to look up.

There, reclined atop the bookshelf between them, was a winged monster with fangs and terrible yellow eyes. “Hi,” it said, and Velma gasped. The rest of the gang followed her attention, and when they noticed the figure, the room descended quickly into chaos. Scooby bolted into the library, directly down the center aisle. Shaggy chased after him, yelling the whole way.

Daphne swooned and Velma caught her, while Fred was the only one to look up at the monster and say hi back.

“Hi!” he said, smiling tentatively. The conversation, if it could be called one, was cut short when Velma grabbed his arm and pulled him through the library door they’d just come through.

“New plan,” Daphne demanded when they were safely out of the room. She was still supported by Velma’s arm, and seemed quite happy to stay there if it meant not going back to face that winged demon. “One that involves getting out of here and getting my green hair to a salon immediately.”

“We can’t leave without Shaggy and Scooby,” protested Fred. “And what if that’s the ghost everyone’s been reporting? We said we’d investigate.”

“Fine, ok, new plan,” Velma sighed, adjusting her glasses with her free hand. “Let’s go catch a monster.”

* * *

Scooby reached a large table heaped with very old books. He sniffed experimentally, cataloguing the scents of leather, dust, and something...spicy he couldn’t place. It smelled like thunderstorms and the TV after it had just turned off. 

It was coming from the glowing, winged figure who stood at the table, methodically repairing a broken book spine. The being smelled friendly, the same way that Shaggy and Velma and Fred and Daphne smelled friendly. Scooby liked friends.

“Rhi,” he said, sniffing at the being’s well-polished leather shoes. After a moment, the knees bent and Scooby was suddenly face to face with someone who was glowing brightly. The being not only had wings, but also had blinking eyes studded all over the wings. The effect should’ve been unsettling, but it was, from a dog’s perspective, rather beautiful. 

“Hello,” said the being in a soft, pleasant voice.

Despite being confused, Scooby didn’t get the instinctual urge to run. Instead, he found himself cozying up to the being, who responded by placing a hand on his head and giving him a gentle scratch behind the ears.

Oh, it was bliss. A shiny creature had befriended him and he was getting scratches. Today wasn’t so scary after all.

And that was when Shaggy barreled around a bookshelf and shouted, “Get away from him! Scooby, come here, we’re gonna run for it!”

“Who’s a good boy?” said the being, in three harmonizing voices at once. “Who is? Is it you? Is it?”

“Rhit’s rhee,” Scooby declared, tail wagging.

Shaggy cocked his head. “Who’s there?”

The being withdrew his hand and rose up from under the table again. “I am the ghost who haunts this place,” he said with the same three-voice harmony. “I care for the books here, having made an undying oath to protect them.”

Shaggy was having a hard time parsing this. He wasn’t even sure which of its eyes to look into. “So...like, you’re not an evil villain?”

The being cackled, and it sounded like a crackling stereo. “Anything but. Please leave me in peace to obey my promise. All my blessings, children.”

“Yeah, alright,” he stammered. “Come on Scoob, let’s get outta here.”

They burst through the doors and crashed right into the rest of the gang, who appeared to be halfway through setting up some sort of Rube Goldberg machine.

“Leave it,” said Shaggy, “the ghost in there isn’t evil, it’s just restoring books. It also has wings and, like, eighteen eyes.”

Through the still open door, the ghost was still in view, and everyone could see that the number of eyes was, in fact, eighteen.

“We’re building this trap for the other guy. There’s two of them,” explained Fred.

Nevertheless, Velma frowned at the glowing being. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“I beg to differ,” said a silky voice. The demon emerged from behind them. Up close, they could see his neck and hands were studded with red and black scales. His slitted eyes glowed brightly. “Ghosts are real! Congratulations, you’ve got your proof. It’s too bad that any report you make will sound made up. I mean,” he said, flicking out a very serpentine tongue, “who’s going to believe you?”

“What’s your purpose?” asked Daphne. “Why are you here?”

“I protect the ghost who abides in this library. He made a vow to protect those books. I made one to protect him.”

“That’s really sweet, actually,” said Daphne. Fred nodded jovially, as if this conversation was about adopting a kitten and not facing down a snake ghost demon. Although, if he didn’t have that disposition, he probably wouldn’t have made it very far at Mystery Inc.

“It’s not sweet. I can make the walls bleed again if I need to. Just. Get out, will you?”

When nobody moved, it spread its wings menacingly. “That’s not a request.”

Velma turned to the rest of the gang, only to find that Shaggy and Scooby had already fled in the direction of the van. Fred and Daphne both gave her the look that meant We Know When to Cut Our Losses and You Should Too. With reluctance, she nodded to the demon and followed her friends out of the castle.

Unseen by anyone else, Aziraphale and Crowley returned to their normal forms and gave each other a gratified high five.

* * *

A half hour later, Aziraphale deposited the last of the repaired volumes back on the shelf where they belonged. “That went rather well, I think,” he said as he folded up his spectacles and tucked them into his pocket. He’d returned to his ordinary form, since the dust had been irritating the rest of his eyes.

Crowley was also restored to his normal shape, free of scales with his sunglasses back on. He was currently sitting in a chair with one leg hooked over the armrest. “Yep. Still got it.”

“I hope the poor dears are all right, I haven’t done the eye and voice thing to a person since the Middle Ages. It tends to have a disturbing effect. I ought to send them some good will, to make up for it.”

He snorted. “The dog didn’t seem to care about your eyes, angel.”

“Dogs have always liked me,” protested Aziraphale. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“Anyway,” Crowley rose from the armchair and produced a thermos from thin air. “Cider?”

“Oh!” The angel’s face lit up. “Don’t mind if I do. I also bought some donuts we can share.”

They ate and lingered in the library, the heady scent of cinnamon and apples mixing with the atmosphere of sugar, wood, and old paper. Between sharing old jokes and commending a haunting well-done, the night passed with effortless enjoyment.

“I genuinely don’t know what scared them more,” Aziraphale eventually mused, “your stunt with the EVP box or the bleeding walls.”

Crowley preened and spread his wings out farther. “The EVP was fun. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Don’t make it a habit, my dear.”

“Eh, maybe once more to mess with Newt.”

Aziraphale tutted with a pretense of disapproval, though his eyes were shining with mischief. “Very well, once more.” After a pause, he added, “Thank you again, Crowley. For the help.”

“Anytime, angel,” Crowley said with uncharacteristic softness. He took a sip of his cider and gave a smile with a hint of fang. “Anytime.”

* * *

That Halloween was the last time any of the Mystery Inc. gang saw the interior of Mannah Hall, and no statement was made to the public about what they encountered.

When Velma tested the blood sample back at their hotel (she’d rigged up a very nice chemistry lab in the en-suite bathroom), it turned out not to be blood at all, but corn syrup and strawberry jam, even though she was certain it had been blood at the time of collection.

They had no concrete proof, no leads, and no desire to return to the castle. But ever since their time spent in Mannah Hall, they’d all been the recipient of an oddly personal windfall or “blessing”. There was no way to tell whether this was related to the entities in the library, but there wasn’t really any other explanation for Daphne’s National Trust medal, Shaggy’s bottomless giftcard to his favorite burger chain, Velma’s grant to study forensics in Norway next summer, Fred’s brand new ascot from Hermes, or Scooby’s new halo-patterned winter sweater.

And if the van somehow got a flat tire every time they drove past the road up to Mannah Hall for the rest of the month they spent in Norfolk, they couldn’t chalk that up to chance either. So they didn’t, but they kept it to themselves.

To this day, the books in Mannah Hall have never looked better, despite the interference of a couple of meddling kids.

**Author's Note:**

> Mannah Hall is based on a real place! Check out Felbrigg Hall [here!](https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/features/a-haunted-library-and-a-bookish-ghost)  
> Also, the EVP conversation is based on [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Oy4CzBYP90)  
> from Buzzfeed Unsolved.


End file.
